


Is This Enough?

by Outside_Da_Box



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Also Fast Paced, DNF, Dream's trying to fix things, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and More to come, Lima Syndrome, LotsofSpeaking, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible Eventual Smut, Slow Build but I'm working on it, Stockholm Syndrome, Tension, Use of the name Clay, dreamnotfound, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28622439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outside_Da_Box/pseuds/Outside_Da_Box
Summary: Every year on Christmas Eve George's family would hold a huge Christmas party with the main shareholders in his father’s company, as well as some important names from all around the world. Ministers, businessmen, lawyers, you name it and they were there. George’s family was one of the wealthier in the state, living a life of luxury by each passing day.That is.Until men in masks take him in the night and hold him for ransom. Men who wear Panda masks and Smiley faced masks.OrGeorge is kidnapped and has to decide on if he is going to turn Dream in to the police.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 99





	1. Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Bro I have no idea what I'm doing. Tips and ideas are welcomed. As well as critiques. I've been reading a lot of DNF lately and I wanted to contribute.

Laughter filled the household. George leaned back against the leather sofa, a soft smile forming on his lips while he watched his family celebrate Christmas Eve. His aunt and uncle were chatting about with the other guests. His parents changed the colors of the lights on the enormous Christmas tree they had placed in the living room, aweing the just arriving guests. Every year on Christmas Eve his family would hold a huge Christmas party with the main shareholders in his father’s company, as well as some important names from all around the world. Ministers, businessmen, lawyers, you name it and they were there. George’s family was one of the wealthier in the state, living a life of luxury by each passing day. 

On this day, George wore a slim navy blue shirt and black dress pants and shoes. His hair was combed back nicely, despite his constant hands running through it in anticipation. Despite having parties every year, he never enjoyed the company it brought. He knew there were only a few more hours left before everyone was gone, he just had to mingle until then. He strolled past some tables, ignoring the interested stares from the young women it accompanied. George was never interested in dating, he would be nice of course, cordial, but everything seemed to be business when there was company over. 

He quickened his pace through the hall over towards the door of the study, quietly closing the door behind him. The study was a large room, quite like a library. It contained a spiral staircase to a second floor of the study, which was where he usually spent his days. 

Upon reaching the second floor, he ran his fingers over the grand piano, checking for dust, as he knew he wouldn't find a spec anywhere in the house. Checking his fingers and affirming his thoughts, he unbuttoned the top three buttons of his dress shirt to give himself some room to relax, sighing softly as he reached a small comfy yellow chair that sat facing a large window. He collapsed into it, scooching it closer to the window to watch the snowfall land onto the trees and grass.

His family owned a lot of land, so there were thick forests behind his house. 

When George was young, his father would take him outside and tell him stories of all of the events that took place back there. All of the games his father would play when he too was a young boy, running through the forest, hunting wild game.

George wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching the snow before he realized how dark it had gotten out. He stretched, pulling himself out of the chair and heading to see if there was anyone left inside the living room. To his relief he was met with darkness, the Christmas tree was unlit, and everything outside was black. Looking at his watch he noticed that it was extremely late, the guests must’ve left at least an hour ago. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he yawned, checking the front door and locking it. He then headed through the hall and past the living area to head to his room, quickly deciding to check the back door as well, just in case. He turned the knob, and interestingly, it turned. Not only that, the door was still partially ajar. With confusion on his face, he closed and locked the backdoor, scratching his head as he headed upstairs. _ Why would someone go back there? _ He tried to come up with scenarios on why a guest might go out the backdoor.  _ It’s snowing. And it’s cold. _

He finally settles outside his bedroom door, deciding that it was just an accident, and his parents just didn’t happen to notice when they headed to bed. This was no problem. Right?

Making his way inside his personalized bedroom, he relishes in privacy. He opens the large window by his bed and cool winter air tingles on his cheeks.  _ It is very cold, yes. Maybe the guests got overheated.  _ George pondered a moment.  _ It gets warm with that many people waltzing about. _

With fatigue setting in, he decided that it was too much effort to undress, sliding his shoes off of his feet, he fell into bed. Thoughts of what would happen Christmas Day filled his head. He wondered about the gifts under the tree, as well as the family dinner.  _ Will it all be the same? _ He lets out a soft chuckle.  _ It’s always the same. _ And that wasn’t bad. It was just his life. Look nice, dress nice, act nice, shake the Minister’s hand, compliment the Mayor’s daughter, ect. He was happy with his more-than-stable life. He just felt like he had to have an act whenever he was around anyone. He had to be a good son.

George doesn’t know when he dozed off, but was awoken suddenly by quiet thumping. Rubbing his eyes, he listened intently. He could make out footsteps creeping along the hall. He wasn’t too worried at first, maybe one of his parents needed to pee. But he was alert when he noticed multiple, they were fast, steady, but quiet. He jumped towards his door, managing to lock it just as someone went to turn the handle from the other side.

Silence.

His heart raced. 

_ Whatthehellishappening? _

“W-Who’s there?” He managed, staring at the door for a moment before rushing to his desk to pull out any kind of weapon he could find.  _ This is an overreaction, right? _ George hopes he is just hearing things. Now armed with a small pocketknife, he takes a few slow steps to the door, “Who is it?” He tries to make his voice sound more confident. A sudden blast of cold air envelops his body as he reaches for the door handle.  _ Did I leave the window open? _ He goes to turn around.

“Don’t move.”

George froze. There was someone behind him, and by the ice cold air nipping at his skin, George was pretty sure how he got in.

“Put on your shoes. You’re leaving.” The stranger demands quietly, and George can see his shoes being kicked into his field of vision.

“What’s going on?” George starts to turn, hiding his pocketknife from what he can only assume is a robber.

“I have a gun. Put on your shoes. We are  _ leaving _ .” The voice is firm, and stops George. After a few tense moments, George decides his best bet is to put on the shoes.

“O-okay. I’m putting them on.” He reaches down slowly for the shoes, slipping his pocketknife into his pant pocket while doing so.  _ It may be more useful later. _

“Good. Now no talking.” A hand yanks his shirt collar, causing him to gasp. 

There is a light tapping at the door and they both still. The robber pulls George away from the door and moves to unlock it -one hand still gripping George’s collar- and another stranger enters. This new stranger has a panda mask on, and George cranes his neck to look at the first stranger, who wears a mask with a big smiley face.

“Where.” Smile man asks.

“Window.” Panda nods.

George is then led to his now open bedroom window, and was promptly pushed out.

* * *

George awakes with a headache and damp clothing. He groans as he peels his eyes open.

Darkness is all he sees.  _ Whatthehellwhatthehell. Oh.  _ There’s a sack over his head.

He is quick to notice his hands are bound behind his back. He can tell that he is in the back of a moving vehicle, a van or something. He hears nothing, although if anyone was around him, they went silent when he woke up.  _ What can he remember? _ He searches his memory. He remembers the party. Checking the back door, people in the house,  _ masked people _ . A creep went up his spine.  _ Did his parents know he was gone yet? _

He starts to sit up, flinching when his back starts to ache.

“Sorry man.” 

George jerks his head in the direction of a voice right next to him.

“I didn’t mean to push you that hard.” The voice sounds slightly embarrassed. “Won’t happen again.”

“Dude you totally meant to push him out of the window.” A different voice, there are two men on either side of him.

“Did not!”

“Did too!!”   
“Shush!” Now this third man was further away, perhaps the driver of the vehicle.

“Where a-are you taking me?” George tries to sound not as scared as he is, but his voice cracks. 

His palms are sweaty and he licks his lips nervously when he realizes that there will be no reply. The car is silent for the rest of the drive. 

George doesn’t know how long they’ve been driving, and he is trying to control his breathing.  _ This is scary. _ He shivers.  _ What’s happening? _ He stresses on ways to get out of this situation.  _ Money, they must want money right?  _ He tries to recall all of the emergency situations his parents had warned him about.

_ Comply, don’t die. _

His mother’s words echo in his head.

But why is this happening? Will they find his pocketknife? Will they kill him? ‘What if’s’ flood his head. The panicked thoughts continue until he feels the car start to slow.

George knows not to make any stupid decisions. His parents would be stupid not to bring him up warning him that his family has a lot of money and someone could eventually come to take some, but he never thought he would be taken in the process.  _ That’s what happened right? _ He tried to process things.  _ It wasn’t a robbery, right? _ Oh fuck.  _ It’s a kidnapping. _

Car doors open, his body jerks when the freezing air pricks at his pale skin.

“Up.” A voice orders. He feels hands around him, pulling him forward and out of the car. 

When his feet touch the snow covered ground, George stumbles a bit, and he falls face first into the snow.

“Sapnap!”

“That was an accident! I didn’t know he was gonna fall!” 

Hands pull him back onto his feet, and stay on his shoulders until he feels level flooring. He’s shaking now from the cold.  _ Sapnapsapnapsapnap.  _ He desperately tries to store the name into his memory for later.

He feels himself led inside. There are many people talking inside, but all is hushed when he is brought in. He hears people moving aside as he is led into another room. The second pair of hands let go of him while the first remained firmly attached. 

“Now listen here,” A voice starts, and a door is closed behind him. “I am going to remove the sack over your head. Don’t freak out.” Then the sack is lifted. George blinks a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the sudden absence of darkness.

He is in a barren room with grey walls, there is a metal post in the middle of the room. Cuffs lay on the ground, attached to chains, which attached to the metal post. His first reaction is to back up, and hits a warm body with an ‘oof’. Hands grab his arms on either side and direct him forward, with each step his heart beats faster. He was taught to do whatever the  robbers wanted.  _ Comply, don’t die. Simple.  _ George walks towards the post, but the hands disappear, and he turns around to look at the kidnapper. Smile Man is standing there, with a hoodie and jeans. Mask still o _ n. His kidnapper _ wore _ jeans _ .

Letting his hand graze his pocket nonchalantly, George sighed silently.  _ His pocketknife was still there. _

“Bad brought some clothes for him.” Panda Man said, peeking open through the door and handing Smile Man clothes. The door closes again, but George knows Panda Man is probably on the other side, waiting.

“Let’s get you into some warm clothes.” Smile Man walks towards George. “And you need to behave or I will do it myself.” The knife that appeared in his hand caused George to back up, until he realized that Smile Man was going to release him from his bindings. Stilling, he let the masked man cut his ties, then handed him some clothes. 

These clothes were definitely cheap clothes, unlike what George was used to. He scooted away from the man and set the clothes down, unbuttoning his shirt, until he noticed the man wasn’t leaving. George’s cheeks flushed, embarrassed that it took him until his shirt was halfway unbuttoned before he noticed Smile Man’s eyes were still on him. “Uh… are you staying in here?”

“You are unpredictable.”

“Uh… okay.” George hesitated a moment, “Could... could you turn around?”

“No.”

With a nervous swallow, George slowly continued undressing, fumbling with the rest of his shirt buttons. Shedding off the dress shirt, he picked up the oversized T-shirt on the ground, glancing at Smile Man while he put it on, relaxing slightly when he noticed that the Man had indeed looked away, giving him a bit of privacy. There was a hoodie as well, and George put that on next, using this opportunity to slide the pocketknife into the hoodie’s pocket. He stopped a moment, looking at the grey sweatpants he was given as bottoms, he doesn’t think he has ever worn sweatpants before, in all his life. Quickly parting with his shoes, sliding off his pants and sliding on the sweatpants, he was thankful for the warmth they brought  ~~ and that the snow didn’t soak through his pants ~~ . 

“Are you ready.” This wasn’t a question, but George still responded.

“Yes.”  _ No, not really. _

“You won’t be needing your shoes.” Smile Man states, before opening the door and stepping out.

There were many masked people in the living room, some sitting on a long dull couch, as well on its sides and other places, doorways, and carpet, etc..

“Allow us to introduce ourselves.” This one was by the doorway, his mask was black with a red rim, perhaps devil horns?? George was unsure. “My name is Bad. The ones you have already met are Dream and Sapnap.” He gestures to  Panda Man Sapnap and  Smile Man Dream. George’s eyes linger on Dream, as he was the man he had the most contact with so far.

Bad continues, “We were sent by a man named Jschlatt. All of this is normal information that is already provided in our ransom note, as obviously we aren’t giving you our real names or faces. There is no point trying to remember our names, as they will not help police locate us.” 

He continues naming people, Fundy, Skeppy, Nihachu, etc. George tuned out after a while, staring blankly at those in front of him.  _ How is this happening? _ He feels like he is dreaming. None of this feels real. It is like he will just wait up and it is Christmas Day, and he will be in bed.

“George.” Bad’s voice snaps him back from his thoughts. “You are being held for ransom. You will not be mistreated if you follow our rules.”

George nods, and Bad continues. “The room you changed in is yours. You will be there the first few nights, locked up. The more you behave the more leeway you will receive. We are just waiting on your ransom so once we get the cash you are to be returned.”

“We play fair.” Sapnap snickers. “As long as you do.” This is when George notices they are all wearing regular clothes.  _ These are just normal everyday people. _ George is in disbelief. Normal people just banded together and plucked him from his household.  _ Took him away from his normal life _ . For what?  _ Money. _ George was being used as a pawn for some greedy people to steal his family’s hard earned money. 

He bit down his sudden frustration.  _ None of this is fair. Not at all. _ He wants to lash out. This is unfair. Why him? Why does this happen? He didn’t do anything wrong.

He feels a hand grab him and he jerks away from it, not used to being touched.

“Not a good way to start, buddy.” Sapnap tsks, applying firm pressure to his back, leading him back to his  ~~ cell ~~ room. “We will start you off with these for the first few days.” Sapnap holds up the cuffs, “Then we will let you roam, as long as you’re good.”

Georges hands itched to grab his pocketknife, but that would do little in this situation, there were at least six people in the living room, they would hear the struggle. He would lose. He sighs, not like he has the guts to try anything anyways. He doesn’t like being touched, much less physically fighting someone. He was a small lanky pale boy.

Sapnap handcuffs both of his hands, then stops to touch them. “Bro your hands are so soft, goddamn.” He laughs, and it brings George back from his frustration. Sapnap is a person, they all are. And George has never mingled with normal people before.

“...I moisturize.”

Sapnap pauses and stares at George for a moment, before breaking out in laughter. “You’re funny, man.” He stays silent for a moment before adding, “We aren’t here to hurt you. We just need to keep you here for a little while, then you can go home.”

George watches as Sapnap steps back to give him some space, before asking, “Why me?”

Sapnap ponders a moment, tugging at his long sleeves, “This was what the job entailed. We hold no ill feelings towards you or your family. We are simply following orders.” After a snicker, he adds, “Plus, compared to other groups who do this, we are the most easy going. We aren’t trying to scare you, we are fine with treating you normally, as long as you stay inside with us until we can make for your release. We are human, just like you. And we want to treat you that way.”

George gives a short nod, unsure what to say. “Thanks, I guess.” 

Sapnap shrugs, walking out for a quick moment, leaving the door open. George can see some of the masked crew. They are laughing on the couch, having a nice time. He doesn’t understand how they all seem so normal after kidnapping him and restraining him to a room. He tries to etch their masks into his memory, along with the names. One girl notices him staring, and stands up for a moment. He believes her name was Nihachu. She makes her way into the room as George rests his back against the post, Sapnap trailing behind her with a large blanket.

“Hey George.” She starts, “I know it is pretty scary being taken from home. Just know we are not here to hurt you. We just want to house you here-”

“Without my consent.” George adds.

“-for a little while. Not too long.” Her tone sounds genuine, like she is trying to calm George down.

Sapnap sets a blanket down next to George. “It gets cold at night so…” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly, messy brown hair creeping past the edges of his mask.

“Thank you.” George tries to stay cordial, as he was taught. These kidnappers are really trying to make George feel safe. Weren’t they supposed to hurt him? Kick him? And why were their attempts to sooth him working? Sure, George was far from relaxed, being in a place he did not know, with people he did not know. He felt a kidnapping experience was supposed to be way worse than this.

When George looks back up Nihachu and Sapnap are both leaving. After hesitance from Nihachu, she flips the lights off and the door closes behind them, leaving George in the darkness.

Well not total darkness, as there was a very small window on the upper part of the wall across from the door, signaling that it was still late, perhaps 1 or 2 in the morning now.

He tried to gather his thoughts.

Okay.

He was being held somewhere, with at least six or seven people  _ that he knew of _ still in the house with him. Multiple of his captors have told him that they want to treat him as a normal human being, as long as he remains in their possession for the time being.  _ So just follow their rules. Easy enough. _ Their boss’s name is Jschlatt, meaning their job is to kidnap people? Have they done this before? Or is this a one time thing?

George gets no sleep that night. Stuck between whether to comply with his captors, or find a way out.


	2. Teach Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life with his captors isn't as bad as George expected.

The next few days consisted of different members of the group bringing him food, uncuffing him, taking him to the bathroom, and giving him some ‘supervised freetime’. This would be whatever George chose, watching TV, reading, interacting with the others, or simply sitting by the window in the side room, looking out over the trees.

“Bad says today you are allowed to be outside. So you get to help me chop wood, lucky you.” George blinks rapidly, surprised that his body found any sleep. He’d found it hard to fall asleep, naturally. He had stayed up, on guard for any surprise visit from his captors, expecting them to go back on their word and killing him. He finally nods towards Dream, who leans by the doorway, dressed in his own pair of sweatpants and hoodie. _He gets to go outside today_. He starts to slide his shoes on when Dream stops him, setting some snow boots down instead. “Can’t go out in those dress shoes, you’ll slip and fall.” He in turn picks up the dress shoes. “Put those on, and meet me outside.”

George nods but Dream is already halfway out of the room. Quickly slipping them on and tying them tightly, George rushes to catch up with him.

Stopping next to the front door, George takes in a long breath.

“Are you ready?” Dream pauses, then opens the door.

Soft snow bites at George’s cheeks as he follows Dream to a small pile of wood. Near the side of the house. George takes note of what’s around him. Miles of large trees spanning from every direction. Looking towards the house, it is an old unkempt cabin, with -George’s breath hitches- the numbers 1457 across the side.

Dream picks up a large sized log and sets it on a tree trunk, littered with small cuts from the axe missing the logs. He picks up an axe and George watches as he slams it down on the log, splitting it in two. _Thump_.

“Have you ever split wood before, George?”

He picks up one of the pieces and sets it back on the trunk, swinging again. _Thump_.

“I haven’t actually.” George confesses. He hasn’t really ever needed to get his hands dirty.

“Well-” _Thump_. “Today, you’ll learn.”

George grabs another log, placing it on the tree trunk when Dream finished splitting the wood into quarters, taking those quarters and placing them on the rack next to the trunk.

Dream cuts up one more good-sized log before placing another one down and handing George the axe. 

Surprised, George fumbles it. “You do realize you just gave me a weapon, right?”

A small wheeze escapes Dream’s mouth, and George flushes. “You’ve had a weapon this entire time.”

“W-what do you mean??” George tries to sound confused. “I-”

“Don’t act like I didn’t see the pocketknife in your hand when I first entered through your window.”

George goes quiet, and a few moments pass before Dream changes the subject, “You’re going to cut here.” He points to the edge of the log. “Aim there, not the middle.”

George nods, thankful for the change in subject, but a question burns the back of his mind. _Why didn’t you say anything?_

With an impatient gesture from Dream, George lifts the axe and, with force- misses the log completely.

This time the wheeze is louder, Dream hunching over in laughter.

George’s face gets redder, feeling his ears burn. “I- I can do better.” Another wheeze. “Stop it, Dream!”

Dream reaches under his mask, probably wiping tears from his eyes from laughing. “Go on, go on.. _hehe_.”

George tries again, this time not using as much force as he is on aim, and he hits it. It doesn’t split the wood, but it at least makes a dent.

“Here,” Dream chuckles, going behind George, moving his dominant hand further up the axe, and letting his other resting near the bottom, then letting go of him completely. “As you swing, let your hand slide down the axe. Let the axe do all of the work.” He brings the axe over George’s shoulder, “Now try.” After stepping out of the way, George tries again, and the wood splits effortlessly.

“Nice!’ Dream pats him on the back. “You’re a natural.”

George shakes his head, but is excited to be learning something new. He splits a few more pieces, while Dream just watches, letting out an occasional praise.

After about a dozen logs, George turns to Dream. “I have to ask. If you knew I had a pocketknife, why didn’t you ever take it?”

Dream thought a moment, “Because,” and before George could even think, Dream had him on the ground, resting his weight on George with his hand resting behind George’s head to soften the impact. George gasped at the contact, not used to being so close to someone, and just pretty winded.

“I don’t think you can fight back.” Dream murmured, face quite close to George, and for the first time, George could see soft tufts of dirty-blonde hair peeking out from behind the mask. His hoodie had fallen down, revealing his short hair. And in that moment, George felt a spark ignite in his chest.

“Teach me.”

* * *

George sits in his room, now completely void of the metal post and chains, now containing a small sofa chair and a few books. He’s been here for a week now, and Bad has mentioned that his parents are moving forward with the deal, leaving money in an undisclosed location and once they receive the money, they will drop George off at some small diner to be picked up.

George thinks of the events that unfolded the other day.

_“Teach me.”_

_Dream snorts lightly, but George can tell he’s smiling. “In due time.”_

_George starts to feel the snow latch onto his clothes, and Dream moves off of him to help him up. “Let’s get you showered, we both smell.” They both chuckle a bit, ignoring how George leans into Dream’s warmth._

_They walk inside and are greeted by Sapnap and Bad, who are chilling on the couch, watching TV. Nihachu and Skeppy are sitting by the fire. “George,” She asks, “What is your favorite food? Pizza? Apple pie?”_

_George flushes, embarrassed. “I’ve actually never had Pizza.”_

_Disbelieving shouts flow across the room as George tries to hide his redness. Yes, as a child who grew up in a wealthy household, there were pizza alternatives, obviously more costly, but he’d never actually had pizza before._

_Dream chuckles softly in George’s ear, taking his arm lightly and leading him towards the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat up, turning back to George. “Glad we got out of there, I’ll have to calm them down.” He heads to the door and closes it softly behind him._

_George sighed, relieved to be alone. Gingerly taking off his jacket and then his T-shirt, trying not to let the damp fabric graze his skin. He sets all of his clothes in a bundle near the door, and was surprised when something slipped out of the pocket. The pocketknife… George grips it, slipping into the shower and closing the glass door behind him. He sets the pocketknife next to the shampoo container on the ledge of the shower, for safekeeping. He knows he won’t use it, it just makes him feel safe._

_Relaxing his shoulders, he rubs shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp. The shampoo smelt like green apple, different than from the lavish scents he was used to, but not bad._

_He was so in his thoughts that didn’t hear a knock at the door, nor did he notice Dream walk in, taking his clothes and replacing them with warm new clothes, as well as a towel. He eyes the pocketknife, barely able to recognize the piece of metal through the steam, not noticing it all the same. He says nothing and walks out, closing the door quietly behind him._

* * *

He had hung with Nihachu today, and they baked all day for the others. She taught him some interesting recipes and they honestly turned out great, because of her. They made cookies and pasta, and Sapnap made a fire while Bad grilled some steak. Nihachu said there was no way to ruin the recipes, but George knew he could find a way. But she surprised him, while they were eating and sitting by the fire, “Your return will be tomorrow.”

Now George looks at his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. He is sitting back in his room. _He is heading home tomorrow, he doesn’t know when, or who will take him, but he is heading home._ He rubs the armchair, grazing the fabric with his fingers. He hates to say it, but it wasn’t too bad staying there. Sure, the first few nights sucked, but they tried to make him feel comfortable and safe. They tried to tell him he wouldn't get hurt, they just needed him to stay put. And he had followed their rules.

He felt guilty. For never trying to escape. For never fighting back. For accepting their warmth and their reasons. He felt guilty that he was treated fairly. This wasn’t right. Kidnappers are supposed to be mean and strict and harsh. But these people weren’t. _It didn’t make any sense._

George groans in frustration, pulling lightly at his hair. Squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head hit the back wall. That’s when a smell hit him. _Smoke_. He leaped up, swinging his door open. But there was something more. Something hard to place.

That’s when he heard the shouting. Out front, running to the front door. Pushing it open, he recognized the smell. _Gasoline_.

Flames lit up the van roughly twenty feet in front of him. He could feel the heat from here. 

“Come on over!” Fundy waved him over. _Everyone was out here._

“Wha- What’s happening?” George rushed over by Dream and Sapnap.

“Just _burning evidence_.” Sapnap laughed, putting his arm over George’s shoulder, pulling him closer to the group. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

George watched the fire for a moment, glancing up and watching the flames reflect on Dream’s mask for a moment, before turning back to Sapnap and nodding. “It is.”

“I could watch this all day.” Dream all but melts.

“Woah buddy,” Sapnap chuckles, pulling Dream in closer too. “Hold it together, we know fire is your soft spot. You all but _nutted_ when we lit it.”

“Shut up man.” Dream quips while George snorts.

“Language.” Bad adds on.

They all watched the flames silently, engulfing the van. 

George stops, “Oh shit-”

“Language.”

“-Was that the van I was brought in?”

Bad nods, and George shakes his head, _what a crazy week_ . He looks at all of the masked faces around him. _It’s hard to get mad at them when they’ve been nothing but nice to him since he was brought here._

He holds back those feelings and decides to just enjoy the fire. Smiling when Skeppy and Nihachu bring over some wood and toss them into the blaze. _I helped chop that_. George feels a sense of pride seeing that.

Dream taps his shoulder, “I know we all just ate a bit ago but,” He pulls out a thin box behind him, “We couldn’t let you go without having you try pizza.”

The smell hits him first, “Wow.” 

_This was a nice last day._

And for some reason, 

George feels a bit disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help idk what I'm doing


	3. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George head's home. But someone familiar awaits him.

George is woken up when Sapnap opens his door, “Wakey sleepyhead. It is time, your clothes are on your table.”

George groans a thanks and sits up, stretching. Last night had actually been very fun, everyone cracking jokes and enjoying the warmth of the fire in the cold snow. Some of them thanked George for being ‘a cool guy’. George sheepishly smiled, “Thank you for not killing me.”  ~~_ Thank you for treating me well _ _.  _ ~~

George stands, scratching head while he reaches for,  _ oh _ , the clothes he was taken in, all cleaned and still warm from the dryer. He dresses quickly, combing his hands through his hair. He exits his room to see Bad and Sapnap waiting at the door for him, dressed more professional than he had ever seen them.  _ They had rented suits.  _ “Are you ready?”

George notices Skeppy and Nihachu head to one of the back rooms holding- George’s eyes widen-  _ gas cans. _ They also were nicely dressed.

“George- it’s time.” Bad brings his attention back.

“A-alright.” George is unsure now as they lead him to a black SUV, which Fundy opens the door for him and there is plastic lining the backseats.

“It is so there is no evidence you were in the car.” Sapnap states simply, and George finds himself trying to keep from touching anything to maintain that lack of evidence.

Unbeknownst to him, his pocketknife still lay by the shampoo bottle. 

* * *

The drive was quiet, Sapnap blindfolding him so that way no location could be given.

“Bad.”

Sapnap’s voice caught him off guard.

“Dream just texted me, he’s got the cash. We can head to the location now.”

“Right on. Tell him to head back to the cabin.”

“I did.”

George wished he wasn’t hearing this. This is more info to give the cops. He can’t  _ lie _ , they  _ kidnapped him _ . But they didn’t  _ hurt  _ him either. He actually enjoyed some moments, he learned how to cook and bake some things, as well as handle an axe, sort of. He learned he liked pizza too! Even the burnt crust. 

It was then he realized he never got to say bye to Dream.  _ What the hell? _ George shook the thought from his head. What was he talking about? There was no need to say goodbye to his captors. Especially when they  _ tossed him out a window _ .

He wondered why he was having trouble. He felt level headed, but he obviously couldn’t be, as he didn’t mind his captors. Now that he thought about it, that week brought such a rush for him. It was all new things, interesting things. No parties, no meetings with other companies, no responsibility. He actually let himself act normal for once. He had people not care about his title, and actually laugh with him and engage him.  _ It was nice. _

George let’s out a small wheeze,  _ he really has a screw loose. _

“George. I’m going to have to tie your hands together okay?”

George nods at Sapnap’s request.

“George.” Bad starts, “You can tell them we hurt you, if that makes it easier.”

George winces, “What?”

“The police. You can be honest, or you can tell them we were rude and mean to you. Whichever is easier for you to deal with.”

George cannot believe his ears. “What do you mean-”

“We are almost at the location.” Sapnap interrupts. “We are going to drop you off here, you will remove your blindfold, then you will walk along the road until you reach the diner. It isn’t far from here.” He pauses a moment. “It was nice having you. You were a cool dude, everyone liked you.”

The car stops slowly, and Sapnap opens the door for him, he gets out, and removes his blindfold. He turns to Sapnap, who points down the road. With a small smile and a nod, the door closes and they drive off.

For whatever reason, George makes a note to look away from the license plate.

He starts walking.

* * *

George’s parents hold a huge celebration for his return. He gets a big hug from his father and many cheek kisses from his mother. He spends the first day back with the police, then with his parents. The next day was the big ‘welcome home’ party. After talking with the police, George was tired. He tried to answer all of their questions but it was hard. He kept it short, excusing himself after a couple hours. He had told them the masks and names they told him, he mentioned the metal post and handcuffs, but stopped from mentioning the address and burning of the van. He figured he could bring it up later. He was way too tired to deal with everything, and honestly, part of him was stalling, giving them time to hide away.  _ He was not right in the head _ . 

Groaning, he got up from his bed, trying to shed his nerves for the party. He drags himself to the shower, locking the door behind him and shedding his clothing, he expected to feel something in his pocket, but couldn’t remember what. Furrowing his brow, he turns on the shower and steps in as it heats up. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the shampoo-  _ oh shit _ \- George shudders,  _ the pocketknife _ . He’d left it in the shower at the cabin. That was evidence that he was there. Wait... That was a good thing though… right?

George rested his head against the cool tile, letting out another groan, man his head was fucked up.

He ended up spending more time in the shower than he needed, washing slowly to waste time, until he had something more to do. Stepping out and turning off the shower, he dried his hair and searched for something to wear. Blue was his favorite, but his stomach lurched,  _ not the same shirt he was taken in. _ He finally settles on a black polo with white pants, and white shoes. This was before he remembered his father stating that it was a  _ tux only  _ event. Sighing, he pulled everything off and replaced it all with a nice dark grey tux and grey dress shoes.

Walking out of his room and towards the main room, his mother stopped him, quickly brushing back his uncombed hair and telling him how handsome he looked. He gave her a fake smile, and a quick cheek kiss before heading in.  _ Only 4 more hours _ , he began.

“George!” He heard his father call, “Come over here, I want you to meet someone.” George slowly walked forwards, looking through the crowd to land eyes on his father. He makes his way over there, building up the will to be cordial.

“Yes, father.” He nodded, reaching him.

“George,  _ this _ -” His father motioned to the boy next to him. “-is Clay.”

George looks up at this boy, and he is  _ quite good looking _ . Beautiful dark  _ yellow(?) _ eyes and fluffy dirty-blonde hair, combed back nicely. He wore a white tux with black pants and shoes. 

“He will be teaching you how to defend yourself in case something like this happens again.”

“Huh?” George comes back to the conversation. “I- ah- Of course, father. Thank you.”

He goes to shake Clay’s hand, and Clay happily shakes it.

His father nods and goes to talk with other guests.

“My name is Clay, my father is acquaintances with yours. When word got around that you would be coming home, my dad mentioned to yours that I was a good fighter, and he asked if I could come and teach you some moves.”

George suppressed the urge to roll his eyes,  _ wealthy people are always- _

“But I am not here for that.” Clay admits.

“What?” George blinked a few times, confused and caught off guard.

“I mean of course I’ll show you how to fight, but I also wanted to get to know you. I mean-” He stumbles over his words a bit, “I’m curious about you.”

George’s cheeks flush and Clay raises his eyebrows, clearly noticing. A soft smile forms on his lips, “You’re quite cute.”

George opens and closes his mouth like a dead fish. Girls always showed an interest in him, and sure he would notice a couple glances from the boys too, but boy was  _ this forward _ .

“Oh, if you’ll excuse me,” Clay chuckles, “I must go find my father.”

And that was it, he was gone in an instant, leaving George in the dust. “What the fuck…?????” George lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  _ What was THAT _ ??

* * *

The party continues, and when George regains his composure, he walks around, swiftly greeting people. He keeps an eye out for this Clay guy, but he seems to have disappeared. A couple hours have passed, and George is running out of his ‘extrovert juice’. Letting out a deep breath, he walks out of the main room, heading for the study. 

“Hey.” A smooth voice asks quietly. “What are you up to?”

George turns to face Clay, who was leaning against the doorway of the hallway.

“The study,” George mumbles, wanting alone time.

“May I come with you?”

George makes a face, but sighs deeply. “Sure, I’ll be seeing more of you anyways.”

“Awesome. I’m pretty done with large crowds right now too.”

With that, they head into the study, George closing the door behind them.

“Woah! You have an upstairs to the study? That’s cool!”

The sudden child-like awe Clay was displaying was surprising, and George actually appreciated it. Everyone was always so cordial and serious, plus it was nice talking with someone his own age.

They made their way upstairs, George taking a seat in the chair while Clay looked out the window. “It really is beautiful.” Clay whispers.

“Indeed it is.” George dismisses, picking up one of the books on the table and opening it.

Clay eyes him for a few minutes. 

“It is hard?”

George throws him a questioning glance.

“Is it hard acting for that long? I mean, you’ve obviously been through a lot, with being kidnapped, questioned by the cops, like, you haven’t been back 48 hours and you are acting like everything is okay.”

Setting down the book, George ponders the question like he doesn’t already have an answer.

“Do I really have any other choice?”

Clay sighs, a very drawn out sigh, and turns back to look out the window. “There are so many stars in the sky. So many to look at.”

George nods, though Clay can’t see it. “Yeah.”

“But each star is experiencing different things, some are dying, some are just forming. Some-” He gestures at nothing. “Some are already gone, but the absence of their light hasn’t reached us yet.”

“This is also true.” Fatigue starts to ebb at George’s body. And he allows his eyes to close for a second.

A rush of cold air from the window being open causes Georges to flinch alert. Clay is stepping out the window onto the roof, “Clay what are you-”

“George,” Clay turns to hold his hand out, “Come sit with me.”

George looks back at the spiral staircase, deciding if he has had enough entertainment for one night.

“We won’t be too long.” Clay adds, reaching out and grasping George’s hand lightly, tugging him up and helping him up onto the roof before climbing up himself.

They both sit down, and it feels so different seeing the view from the other side of the glass. He can feel the snow caress his warm cheeks, hear the trees shifting in the wind.

He’s cold.

“I’m cold. I am going to go in.” He starts, but Clay moves closer to him. “Uh.”

“Hey I grew up with touchy parents, so let me warm you up.” Clay scoots so they are hip to hip, reaching his arm around George to rub his arm. George wants to move away, he doesn’t like contact like this. Isn’t used to it. But his body is  _ tired _ . And Clay is  _ warm _ . So he finds himself nuzzling against him, laying his head on his shoulder. He can explain himself in the morning, but right now he is  _ exhausted.  _ He feels Clay hold him a tad tighter then he closes his eyes and

Opens them

And he is not on the roof anymore.

He is on the chair in the study.

And he is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These three chapters were all written in the span of two days and there are many mistakes and confusing parts that seem stupid so I apologize. When you see mistakes, let me know I will change them.


	4. Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay shows George some moves.   
> George needs a stress reliever.

A couple days pass before George sees Clay again. In the meantime, George meets up with an older man who is helping out with his case.

“As of right now, there is no DNA that was left from the kidnappers. It would be hard to check again now, as you have already had around thirty people in your house since you’ve arrived home safely.”

“From what I remember,” George stiffens up, realizing that he is giving away unnecessary information. “Dream wore a jacket and jeans when he came in through my window. You said there was no residue or anything?” He doesn’t know why he was helping the police find people who did not hurt him.

The older man, only known to George as Detective Hoffan, watches George quietly, “They were in and out fast. Your parents only found the note several hours later when it was closer to late morning on Christmas Day.”

George takes a long sip from the glass next to him, trying to collect all of his thoughts. “They all were wearing normal clothes. They seemed to be normal everyday people. How would they be so good at hiding evidence?”

The Detective thought for a moment, “Maybe this wasn’t their first job.”

George agreed for a moment, “When they brought me back, they were wearing suits. Maybe they rented them.”

Folding his hands together, the Detective shrugged. “Perhaps we will need to look into that. A list of anyone who has rented a suit in the past month around this area then check to see who has returned them in the past couple days. And you are sure they seemed to be…” He hesitated, “Normal?”

They were both weaseling around the predicted income of his captors, George wanting to use the term ‘normal’ instead of terms like ‘poor’, ‘less financially stable’ , or ‘not wealthy’.

It just seemed plain rude to state it that way, or maybe it was rude not outright saying it. He didn’t know. Being raised with a strictly wealthy lifestyle, rich people acted differently than those of lower income, not in a good or bad way. George’s captors did not seem to care about class or treating George differently because of his status, they stated time and time again, they were all human. People George knew would never compare themselves with the ‘lower class’, which is why George wouldn’t think that his captors were ‘on the wealthier side’.  _ They were more humane _ . He actually had to laugh at how insecure he was sounding. 

“Let’s take a break.” Detective Hoffan decided, standing up from George's kitchen table, “We can talk more tomorrow. Perhaps about what the cabin looked like.” With a nod from George, he excused himself and headed towards the front door.

Upon hearing the door close, George fell back in his chair, confusion resting upon his features. He didn’t understand why he was being this way.  _ If only they’d hurt him or were mean. Then he would have no problem ratting them out _ . George’s problem was that his captors tried to be kind to him. He’d never heard of kidnappers ever doing that before. It perplexed him deeply. His shoulders sagged in defeat, bringing a shaky hand to his face, “Man, Am I a little fucked up.” This was not a question.

A knock on the door surprised him, and he looked towards the front door, not seeing a figure in the window. Blinking rapidly, George realized that the knocking came from the backdoor. Walking over, he opened the door, revealing Clay, who smiled sheepishly with a , “Hey.”

“Hello…” George took a step back, letting him in, “What are you doing here?”

Stepping inside and walking right past George, already expecting him to follow behind, Clay headed towards the study, “I am here to teach you something.” 

It was then that George noticed Clay had a small bag. “I’ll be there in a second,” He mentions, waiting until Clay was out of sight before regaining all of his composure and trying to relax his tense shoulders.  _ He’s fine. Everything is fine. _

“Or  _ Geeoooorrrgggee” _ , Clay’s voice echoed against the walls of the study, and George took a second to take in how peasant his voice was.

Making his way up the stairs, he was surprised to find Clay with duct tape in his hands. He slowed, suspicious, “Yes Clay?”

As much as he liked that huge smile that formed on Clay’s face, it did scare him a bit, “You ready to learn?”

The next 40 minutes consisted of Clay duct taping George’s hands and feet together in different ways, watching his struggle to get out. Occasionally he would give George tips on how to get out, but wanted him to figure it out on his own.

“You are doing quite well, I think if you were in a life or death situation with household duct tape, you would do just fine.”

George snorted lightly in response, “Is this all we are learning today?”

Clay just rolled his eyes, and much to George’s dismay, pulled out zip ties. 

“Oh nuh uh.” George stepped back a bit.

“Oh yuh uh.”

Clay had been laughing and teasing George this whole time, frustrating George to no end. George needed a break. “How about this,” Thinking fast, George took the zip ties, placed Clay on a wooden chair, and zip tied his hands to the back of the chair, as well as each foot to the two front legs of the chair. When Clay started to move, George stopped him. “Ah ah, not yet”, bringing a sticky piece of duct tape to Clay’s helpless lips, rubbing it on firmly. After a moment of watching his surprised face, George smiled smugly, “I think I like you a lot better this way.” The way Clay’s eyes widened and face flushed made it even more satisfying. “Awe,” George sighed, quiet enjoying being in control, “Who’s embarrassed now?”

Clay made a move to get out, face flushing even deeper when his first attempt failed, causing George to chuckle lightly, stress from today ebbing from his features.

Clay’s second attempt was a success, pulling off the duct tape and grumbling something about being caught off guard and that’s what messed him up the first time.

With an eye roll from George, he stopped, “You’ve been wound up since before I got here today, it’s nice to see you more relaxed.”

George shrugged, agreeing slightly.

“What changed just now?”

Biting his lip, George pondered a moment. “I don’t know.”  _ Why was he telling Clay this?  _ “The first few days that I was with the captors-” He swallows, throat suddenly dry, “- I was handcuffed in a small room, unable to do anything all night. I felt  _ helpless, restrained _ .”

He could feel Clay staring at him, but continued fumbling with a zip tie.

“Were you restrained the whole time?”

“...Not….  _ exactly _ .” Clay’s eyes bore into him, making him more nervous. “They actually were…  _ gentle _ … with me.”

“I see.”

“But uh-” George fumbled, trying to change the subject, “Restraining you felt good, as I was the one in control.”

Understanding the change in the atmosphere, Clay threw the tape and zip ties back into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before waking over to George, ruffling the brunette’s hair lightly. “I’m usually the dom, but maybe letting you dom will be some nice therapy.”

George choked on his saliva, breaking out into coughs, ignoring the burning of his ears.

I- I’m not-”

“Interested in girls?” Clay dismissed, “Yeah I know,” shaking his head, he motioned for George to follow him downstairs and out of the study. “Maybe you didn’t know, but I’ve been to your family’s parties before, you’re always looking right past the girls who fawn over you.”

They reach the hallway and George turns to Clay, “What are you talking abou-”   
Clay rushes him and George backs into the wall, pinned against it, “You may not be as interested in the boys either, but your eyes always linger a while longer on them.” And just as George’s face heats up a bit, Clay is off of him, making to the back door, throwing him a look, “Or maybe it was just my imagination.”

While George reels over what the hell just happened, Clay exits the house.

What George doesn’t see is, just as he is out of sight, Clay groans and rubs his face harshly, embarrassed. “What the hell did I just do…?” Lightly slapping his cheeks a couple times, he tries to regain his easy composure, and starts to walk off. His phone startles him.

_ Text from Sapnap: You are needed. _

With a deep breath he looks out into the dark snow covered forest.

_ To Sapnap: On my way. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to add more DNF content but I don't want it to come out of nowhere. Trying to make it not seem forced, if it is, I'm sorry.


	5. Working on Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy thoughts. Cuddling, hurt. Moving things a bit faster now as George is coming to realize some things.  
> Working things out.

It’s been three days since he had last seen Clay. George had gone back to the Detective, mentioning how the cabin looked old and unkempt, more reason to suggest the captors weren’t wealthy(couldn’t afford the upkeep, perhaps). 

Then the Detective had asked a question George was hoping he wouldn’t ask, “Did you see anything that could tell us where the house was, or where you were?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, George slowly speaks, fiddling with his long sleeve. “There were thick forests coated in snow.” He glances at the Detective, “And I may have seen an address.”

“Go on.” Was all the older man had to say, pen in hand.

“I believe…” He started, suddenly wishing he had said nothing. “...I believe it was 1457.” Part of George wishes he had lied, but he doesn’t know why.  _ Why does he want to protect his captors? _

The Detective asked his final question for the day, choosing to ask about the van George was taken in.

“I don’t think you’ll find anything from it.” Was all George had replied.

That had been his day.

Back on his bed, George groans softly, letting himself fall onto his bed. Clay had been occupying his dreams lately, so much so that it was hard to sleep.

It was mid afternoon and George was still tired. He figured he had plenty of time to relax, as his parents had no events planned for that day. 

He drew his curtains to block the sun from entering his room.  _ Clay was frustrating _ , as George was not one to fancy  _ anyone _ , let alone a boy. Plus, he had  _ a lot _ more to worry about. He had been reading up on Stockholm Syndrome, as well as its inverse, Lima Syndrome. He really needed some therapy…

_ I’m usually the dom, but maybe letting you dom will be some nice therapy. _

Clay’s words burned in the back of George’s mind. Geez, what a guy. But to be honest, George needed a nice distraction from the trauma around him. He needed something  _ normal _ .

He lays down, relaxing onto his back and closing his eyes.

_ Imagine a scenario where he is in control. _

George goes back to the excitement he had felt when he zip tied Clay to the chair. The satisfaction when he watched as Clay’s face reddened in embarrassment. He wouldn’t be able to do anything, and George had all of the power.  _ Just the fact that Clay knew that George had the upper hand _ . And the idea that George had the ability put that look onto Clay’s face. George could’ve done anything to him at that moment,  _ anything _ . He could’ve ripped that duct tape off of his pretty lips and kissed them-

George opened his eyes.

_ Woah _ .

He squirmed a bit, readjusting his body to these new feelings.

_ That’s new _ .

Settling himself down, he tried to think of other things. He had never really thought of someone in that way before, well that’s not true. He had _tried to_ , but his body wouldn’t really react to those thoughts. But the thought of kissing _Clay._ _That_ got a reaction. It is also true that Clay has been the most forward with him, as George was not typically the touchy type, but Clay never gave him the option. 

George closes his eyes and thinks again.

_ A scenario where he is in control… _

He tries to make up different scenarios, but his mind keeps going back to Clay, in that chair.

And with that, George decided to say fuck it, and see where his mind would take things.

He allowed himself to picture how red Clay’s face was, to imagine himself ripping the duct tape off of his mouth and kissing those  _ soft lips _ . He imagined those lips kissing him back, rough for a moment, but George would control the situation, as he wanted. He saw himself straddling the taller boy, running his hands through the fluffy blonde hair.  _ Feeling him. _ He wondered if he would want things to escalate. If he would let Clay free and continue. If he would still be in control.

* * *

Sighing, George eventually sat up, a tad frustrated at how fucked up his head was, not noticing the footsteps that stopped outside his door.

It was the knock that alerted him, “Come in.”

_ Speak of the devil _ .

“Darling,” His mother spoke cheerily, “Someone is here to see you.” She swayed a tad, eyeing George’s closed curtains.

“Hello, Clay.” He spoke, turning to the window to redraw the curtains, feeling Clay sit down on the bed next to him as he did so. “Where have you been?”

Clay waited a moment, waving goodbye to George’s mother as she excused herself from the room. “I had some business, but I am not supposed to be back yet, so I headed over here to kill some time.” Turning to look at him, George noticed that Clay looked even more tired than he did.

“Is everything okay?” George tilted his head, studying the blonde’s face.

“Mhm. I just walked to hang out with you.” Clay laid back on the bed, feet hanging off of the side.

“I see... Does that mean no lessons today?” George raised his eyebrow, a small smile forming on his lips.

“I am afraid not,” Clay yawned, moving and laying down fully on the bed, “Woah this is comfortable.”

George nodded in agreement. And all was silent.

“You know…” Clay sighed, “Even though I’ve seen you plenty of times, We’ve never once talked.”

“And why do you think that is?” George turned, sitting cross legged to face Clay on the bed. 

Clay searched his eyes for a moment, but George was unsure what he was searching for. He finally gave up, closing his eyes, “I don’t know. Maybe it was never the right time.”

George thought for a moment, “Well, shall we make up for lost time? You seem pretty chill.”

“Sure” Clay smiled softly, “What did you do today?”

George then started recounting his day, talking about what he and the Detective talked about, and what his mother was planning to make for dinner, and anything else that he could think of. He admitted that he was having a hard time sleeping, and was going to get some more shut eye before Clay arrived. After a few minutes, George realized that Clay had fallen asleep. With a small snort, he quietly moves to close the curtains once again, this time closing and locking his door as well, before also climbing in bed. At least he could control that.

Turning to Clay, he scooches closer, noticing something as he sees his shirt ride up.  _ Is that… bandages? _ A wave of concern hits George, what business did Clay take care of? And is he hurt? What caused it? George stares at the bandages, reaching down to pull the shirt up a bit more, seeing a splash of pink or red and pulling the grey shirt back down hastily. He couldn’t look at it, knowing if he looked any longer he would want to ask him, so he turned his back to Clay, still thinking about it when he felt Clay’s arms fall around him and pull him in.  _ Gosh he forgot how touchy Clay was. _ But this time, George didn’t mind it… allowing himself to relax in his arms, feeling Clay’s steady heartbeat.

George's heartbeat raced, but he breathed slowly, allowing it to beat evenly with Clay’s.

He’d forgotten how nice it was to be held, he had been too busy keeping people at a distance. He sighed deeply, all of his stress melting away. Closing his eyes, he found himself smiling, listening to Clay’s breathing deepen.  _ Technically _ , he thought,  _ I am in control of this _ .

George closed his eyes, resting his head on Clay’s arm, sinking into a smooth slumber.

* * *

George woke slowly, stretching softly, surprised with how much space there was on his bed. Opening his eyes, he looked around, hearing drawers open and close in his bathroom. Yawning, he stood, making his way over to Clay, “What are you looking for?” George didn’t need to ask, 

seeing Clay clutching his stomach with one hand, straightening up when he noticed George.

“George.” He turned to face him, forcing a smile, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

George eyed his stomach, for a moment. “Are you hurt?”

“I uh.. It’s nothing.” He was clearly out of breath. “You can go back to bed, I’ll meet you there in a sec.” Clay wasn’t going to tell him.

Sighing, George moves past Clay, crouching to open one of the lower cabinets. “Sit down and take off your shift.”

“No no, I’m fine George, don’t-” The look George gave Clay shut him up, and he sat down, reaching to pull his shirt off.

George found the bandage wrap and turned to Clay, flinching at the slightly soaked bandages. He sat next to him, gingerly removing the wraps, ‘I won’t ask, as you won’t tell me. But sometime later you are  _ going to tell me _ what the hell happened _. _ M’kay?”

Clay nodded a couple times, breathing quick, short breaths, trying to quiet himself.

Setting the bloodied rags onto the floor, George tried not to look at the deep gash on Clay’s lower abdomen, instead focusing on tightly wrapping him back up. “I’m going to make you a mummy.” He tried to joke a bit, and Clay closed his eyes tightly, uttering a small “Thank you.”

George wrapped him silently, making sure to wrap slowly around the wound. He wonders what kind of business Clay could be doing that could inflict a wound like this. Well, technically Clay was a ‘good fighter’, which was the whole reason George was getting lessons from him.

George mumbles a ‘looks good’, before getting up and searching through his closet, bringing back one of the very few T-shirts he had. People like George couldn't have normal T-shirts, but George had a few better quality ones, liking the look of them.

Tossing the light blue shirt to Clay, George threw away the old bandages and picked up Clay’s stained shirt.

“There’s some pain meds in the upper left cabinet,” George sets the shirt under his desk, away from view, and grabs the unopened water bottle on his nightstand.

“It was a hunting trip.” Clay murmured from the bathroom, and George heard cabinets reopening, the sound of pill bottles being moved around. “I was supposed to make sure everything was done correctly, and got caught in the crossfire.”

“Do your parents know?” George tried not to glance at Clay’s shirtless chest for too long, handing him the water bottle and watching as he popped the pill into his mouth, swallowing harshly a couple of times.

“They do not. And they  _ will not _ . That is why I am here, I am not supposed to be back yet, and if they know I am here, they will suspect something went wrong.”

“I will mention for my mother not to say anything, then.” 

“Cool, thanks.” Clay nodded gratefully, “I owe you one.”

“Actually,” George started, closing his eyes briefly to rearrange his thoughts, “I do want to talk to you about something you said.”

Clay furrowed his brow, nodding slightly, but George could see he had his full attention.

“You mentioned something about letting me ‘dom’.” George put up air quotes on the last word.

“I did say something like that, yes.” Clay made his face unreadable, so George continued.

“Well, I have been thinking that you might have a point. Helping me control situations more easily. Giving me instances where I can be in control.”

Clay’s face lit up, and George could tell several ideas were crossing his mind, “This is true. We could try some.”

“We know that tying you up made me feel in control.” George starts, trying to brainstorm.

“Did you not feel control when you broke through the bindings?” Clay asked aloud, pacing around the room.

George paused a moment, “I- I don’t know. If I did, it wasn’t as noticeable.”

“Maybe we start back there, but pay more attention to how you feel.”

* * *

  
  


George timidly sat in the wooden chair he and Clay brought out back into the expansive forest George’s family owned. They had decided to walk about ten minutes into the forest, giving them some privacy, as Clay didn’t want his family to know he was back from his trip, and George would rather his parents not walk in on George strapped to a kitchen chair.

“So you said you were blindfolded?” Clay asks quietly, tightly wrapping the duct tape around George’s wrists, silently getting on his knees in front of George and wrapping each ankle to the front legs of the chair. He finished, placing his hands on George’s thighs, stabilizing himself as he waited for a response.

“At first, yes.” George swallowed, trying to rid himself of the sudden lump in his throat.The whole kidnapping had happened so fast, and he had returned home even quicker. He had no time to process what was happening. “I was knocked out, but when I came to, there was a sack over my head, yes.”

Clay nodded, standing back up and searching in his bag once again, pulling out a sack of his own. “I am going to put this on you, okay? And I want you to relax a moment, keep it on.”

George’s heartbeat raised a bit, feeling his palms become sweaty, “I don’t know Clay…”

“ _ Trust me _ .” Clay whispers, genuine concern resting upon his smooth features. “I want you to be able to be in control even when it doesn’t feel that way, let me show you.”

George stares at him a moment, buying himself some time. He doesn’t want to do this, but part of him  _ wants _ to trust Clay. Clay knows what’s best for him, doesn’t he?

With an unsure nod, Clay slides the thin sack over George’s head. It takes everything in George to not freak out. His mind jumps back to the van, feeling the steady rumbling of the engine.

“George.” Clay murmurs.

“Y-yeah.” George breathes in deeply, earning a small praise from Clay.

“Good, now follow my voice.” George can hear Clay circling him. “Where am I?”

“You’re on…. My left side?” 

“Correct.”

Silence as George hears him move again, and without waiting for him to speak, “You’re behind me now, ah you’ve stopped.”

“Awesome, George! You’re a natural, see if you can take the sack off.” George can hear the excitement in Clay’s voice.

George moves his head about, first trying to shake the sack off, then trying to bring it down and pulling it off with his knees, which works.

“I am trying to show you that even in a situation where you feel powerless, there are things you can control.” Clay motions for him to get up, and George starts to protest, before realizing,  _ oh shit _ , he knows how to get out of duct tape bindings now. It takes him a couple seconds to adjust, but after a small test attempt, he forces the bindings to snap and they release him from the chair.

Looking up at Clay, George notes the smug smile on his face. “What’s that look for?”

Clay shrugs, still smiling, “I can’t help it. I’m proud of you.” He turns around, pulling out some zip ties, while George stands up, walking towards him. “Plus, you have just found a few things that you  _ can _ control, you knew where I was, you listened. You got the sack off, giving you sight, and you broke from the restraints. Three things your captors wanted to control, you took control of.”

_ Huh _ . George didn’t think of that, but it  _ did _ make him feel a bit more stable. “Are you teaching me how to get out of the zip ties next?”

“No.” Clay hands the zips ties to George, “We are focusing on situations you can control, right?” Clay brushes past him, settling himself in the wooden chair, “Wasn’t this one of them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxious.


	6. Dream?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another kidnapping has taken place. George figures out who Clay is. And has evidence to bring him to justice. But will he?  
> (Fast moving chapter from start to finish)

George’s face heats up slightly, fumbling with the zip ties, “You… want me to zip tie you?”

Clay nods with a shrug, “It seemed to affect you before,-”  _ Seemed to affect you too Clay  _ “-so maybe explain what you are feeling. See if we can reenact it.”

George steps closer, thinking a moment, “But I want to hear how you feel as well. Make it even.”

“Sure, I don’t see the harm.” 

To that, George ties Clay’s hands back behind the chair, as well as his ankles. They eye each other a moment, before George remembers to grab some duct tape, pressing it against Clay’s lips.

A few tense moments pass. George waits to feel that sense of control and satisfaction. 

He searches his mind and body for something, and then there’s-

_ nothing _ .

He sighs, “ _ It isn’t working.” _

Clay throws him a look.  _ What do you mean it isn’t working? _

“I don’t know, Clay. It- it’s situational. You were being cocky and I wiped that cockiness right off of your face. I’m not doing that here.”

George runs a sweaty hand through his hair, rightly frustrated. The first time, he had surprised Clay. Thrown him  _ off guard _ .

He takes one long look at Clay, rifling through some ideas.  _ Clay is in his element. _

Clay looks down, eyes seemingly creased in thought, and a strange thought passes through George.  _ A remedy to that problem. _ Without another thought, he rips the duct tape off of Clay’s mouth, a small yelp escaping the blonde’s lips. He glares at George, “What the hell? That hurt.”

_ Something stirs. _

He crouches in front of Clay, hands resting on Clay’s thighs.

“What are you…?” Clays eyes widen momentarily, but he then controls his expression.

_ Clay always seems in control. _

George slides his hands up slowly, just grazing the fabric with his fingertips.

_ Clay’s forwardness always catches George off guard. _

“George.” Clay’s tone wavers a bit, face breaking and revealing clear confusion.

George stares into his eyes, watching all expressions.

_ More inside of him stirs. _

Clay suddenly seems uncomfortable, moving a bit to test his binds.

George traces all the way up his pants, reaching the hem of his shirt and yanking it up, checking his wounds. He hums quietly, suddenly enjoying these sudden movements. He enjoys taking Clay out of his element and making him nervous. He wanted to feel what his captors felt. He wanted  _ Clay _ to feel how  _ he _ had felt.

His mind goes elsewhere, allowing his urges to push through. His fingers dig into Clay’s bandage, causing him to cry out a bit.

Something in George  _ loves _ how Clay’s bright yellow eyes water and something inside him  _ tingles _ at the thought of Clay’s freckled face tightening in discomfort.

“George.. What the f-fuck?” Clay groans a bit, fixing confused eyes.

George tilts his head slightly, pushing the blonde waves out of his face, searching for another emotion swirling in Clay’s eyes,  _ fear _ .

“What are you feeling right now, Clay?”  _ What is happening? _

The blonde blinks rapidly, seemingly at a loss for words.

_ What is this feeling? _

George studies his face, those  _ eyes _ , then the rosiness of his cheeks, and down to the slightly parted lips. “You agreed to tell me how you feel.”

Clay attempts to recollect himself, much to George’s dismay. “I- uh… I feel surprised.” Clay starts, “Uncomfortable, confused.”  _ scared _ . “What do you feel?”

George furrows his brow, suddenly relaxing. What does he feel? His mind slowly comes back to him, pushing his urges back. “I feel…” He takes a long breath, exhaling slowly, shakily. “Powerful, in control. I feel  _ something _ …” He rests a hand against his chest, trying to collect his thoughts, “...In my chest. I feel it whenever I catch you off guard. And… and it feels  _ good _ .”

Clay stares deep into his eyes, thinking for a long moment. His eyes express an emotion George wasn't expecting,  _ guilt. _

"Even though you weren't hurt, your captors really did a number on you emotionally."

Georges nods, unsure where this is going. "Well, yes. They made it worse for me mentally, as since they have not hurt me in any way, I have trouble seeing them as the bad guys.”

“Yes they may not have hurt you, but they still kidnapped you.” 

“That is true, but they treated me normally. If they had hurt me then I wouldn’t have this possible  _ Stockholm Syndrome _ .” George chuckles, expecting Clay to chuckle as well at the irony, but another ping of guilt passes through Clay’s eyes.

“They seem to have wanted to make things go the easiest way possible, but in turn, made things harder for you when you were brought back.” Clay taps his tied foot against the chair, nervous. 

George takes a long look at him, watching the guilt eating at his features, “Why are you acting like that?”

Clay bites his lip, blonde hair now covering his face. “I… I just… wish they had found a good way to handle it. A path of least destruction. One that didn’t leave you confused to which side you were on.”

George nods silently, and suddenly, he is well aware of his hands on Clay’s abdomen. Standing up, he notices how cold it has gotten. “Come on Clay, I think it is time to head back.”

He pretends not to notice the taller man’s sight blush, and also the fact that it took him a couple tries to break the zip ties.

It’s not Clay’s fault he was kidnapped. Why was he acting all  _ guilty _ ? It’s not like he had something to do with it.

_ The feeling of wetness distracts him _ .

George looks up at the sky, mostly blocked with trees, but he can make out the dark clouds. He turns to Clay, and holds out a hand, “Let’s go back to the house.”

* * *

George sits in the living room with his mother, the television playing something on the news.

_ He and Clay had walked back through the forest, mostly silent, just listening to the rain falling on the world around them. Despite George inviting him back inside, Clay had said he needed to head home. George started to argue, wanting to mention how Clay said he would stay for a day or two since he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. But the look in Clay’s eyes said he needed some time alone. _

He tells his mother not to say anything about Clay being there, and she nods, shrugging it off to some parents being more uptight than others.

They decide to sit on the couch and hang out, just doing nothing, relaxing in each other’s company.

It is a few minutes before his mother speaks.

“Did you hear on the tv that your kidnappers struck again?”

George whips his head from the fuzz he was playing with on the cushion. “What?”

“The victim was on the news anonymously, was another family from around here. But this guy has even less information than you did.”

Georges sighs deeply.

“Other than the fact he knows he was able to stab one of his captors.”

“What?” George’s mouth purses in disbelief.

She shrugs nonchalantly, but George can see the playfulness in her eyes. “The news hasn't revealed his name yet, but we know it.”   
George feels his ears ringing. “Who?”

“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.”

* * *

George makes his way through the streets, checking the neatly written address on the small sticky note he held in his hand.

_ “Here,” His mother had said, then quieting down when his father walked in. She goes to hold George’s hand, squeezing it softly. “If you need someone to talk to, maybe he can help.” _

_ She then removed herself from the couch, walking to greet her husband in the other room. _

_ Upon opening his hand, a blue sticky note was there, folded up. _

He furrowed his brow, noticing the address planted next to a dark handcrafted wooden door.

_ 1457 Gentlewood Avenue. _

This was definitely a wealthy house.

Shuddering against the cold air, George buttons up his coat and knocks firmly on the door. It only took a couple seconds, but a tall man opens the door, looking tired, but alert. George notices the many books thrown all about the room behind him, a small lit fireplace creating a gentle aura.

“Yes?”

“Oh.. uh” George all but stutters, “Are you Wilbur Soot?”

The man eyes him a moment, and George decides that he has a very nice face.

“And you are?”

“Oh! Sorry, my name is George, I heard you were kidnapped like I was, by the same people. I wanted to know-”

The brunette ushers him into the house, closing and locking the door hastily behind him. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am Wilbur, yes. I wondered which of us would seek out the other first.”

George tilts his head, surprised, “You knew I’d come?”

“Well of course.” The taller man smiles, placing himself in one of the two sturdy chairs by the fire, gesturing for George to sit in the other. “I didn’t know you’d be so blunt about it.” With a pause, and an awkward look from George, Wilbur continues. “What did you want to know?”

George is uneasy, sensing dominance ooze from Wilbur’s features. “Well… How did they take you?”

“They came while I was out, I took my usual stroll out by the gardens, and when I was close enough to the woods, there they were. Three masked people.”

“Where did they take you?” George felt his chest tighten at the image. He wonders who it was. Dream? Sapnap? Bad? They wouldn’t have Nihachu do it, right? She was too sweet.

“Well first off, it was early in the morning, as I like to walk in peace.” He pauses, eyeing the fire. “Seeing those  _ men _ , I knew something bad was going to happen.”

George nods, urging him to continue.

“There was a fox man, a panda man, and a smiley-faced man. Fox man went to grab me but I pulled away to run. Then the other two jumped on me.” Wilbur’s face remained serious, looking between George and the dimly lit fire. “I elbowed one of them in the face, I don’t know who, and managed to bolt into the forest-” He slams his fist against the armrest, and George flinches. “-but they found me. Then there was a sack over my head, and I remember being dragged. I was screaming and yelling as loud as I could, but one of them must’ve knocked me out for a minute or two. When I came to, I was being lifted into a vehicle, hands bound behind my back.”

George absentmindedly fiddles with one of the buttons on his jacket and leans forward in the chair. “Did you see anything when you got there?” ‘ _ Were you a good boy like I was?’ _ He thought.

“One of the girls there was very kind to me, Nihachu, I believe. Actually-” He huffs, “-She was the only one I liked, if you could say that.”

George smiles some, “Yeah, she was sweet to me as well.”

“Her one mistake was letting me shower before they let me go.” He admits, confusing George.

“What do you mean?”

An intense smile appears on Wilbur’s face. “Did you happen to have a pocket knife with you while you were taken?”

George suddenly doesn’t feel too good. And Wilbur pulls a silver object out of his pocket.

“You see.” He starts, pulling the blade open, now clean, but George could see the dark crust of dried blood stuck in the cracks of the tool. “I chose not to give this to the authorities.” He takes George’s hand, pressing the blade against his palm, not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the pressure. “I saw your initials on the blade. I decided to give you the pleasure of turning it in.”

George’s throat is suddenly very very dry. Barely able to crack out a “Why?”

Wilbur shrugs slightly, suddenly unsure, chewing his bottom lip for a moment, “You were the one who gave me the opportunity to get his DNA.”

George bites back his confusion. “Who did you stab?”

“I don’t know what they called him. Only  _ Nihachu _ gave me her name, as the others already had a problem with me, since I had already injured one of them in the beginning.” 

George also pretends to not hear the softness in Wilbur’s voice when he murmurs her name. “What mask was it?”

Wilbur thinks for a moment, and George takes another long look at him,  _ this man is tall _ . He definitely has some fight in him, as well as some strength.

“It was the smiley-faced man, I believe. There was a large ruckus after I stabbed him. Lots of shouting-  _ gosh _ people can be so loud.” He groans, letting George take the open knife and rests his arm on the armrest, chin resting on his palm.

_ Oh shit it was Dream _ . “How did you manage to keep the pocketknife?” 

“It fell into the shower, washing off most of the blood on the blade. I grabbed it and ran out the bathroom and out the front door.”

“ _ Naked??? _ And wasn’t there someone guarding the front door?” George folds back up the knife, holding it in his lap.

“I was clothed, behind the door, but kept the shower on to fool them. When he walked in I pushed him into the shower, he fought back and grabbed me, and I stabbed him.” He waves his hand dismissively.

“And the guard at the door?” The pit of George’s stomach was twisting his guts, but he had to know more. Had to know  _ everything _ .

“I pushed her-  _ them _ ” He forces a cough, “I pushed them out of the way. I ran for a bit but two of them brought me back fairly quickly, the pocketknife was small enough to hide discreetly where they wouldn’t see it.”

George grips the pocketknife harshly, letting out a deep breath, content with the answers he was given. “Thank you for talking with me. Did you happen to see anything outside of the house?”

“Yeah. I saw an address. 1983.” 

“Huh. That’s odd. The address I saw was 1457, but it must’ve been the same cabin, as my pocketknife was still there.” George furrows his brow, biting the inside of his cheek.

Wilbur’s head snaps to George, “George, 1457 is my address.” A pause, “What if they put up the address of the next victim?”

They stare at each other a moment, both realizing the possibility, no matter how big the jump.

* * *

George starts his descent back home, refusing Wilbur’s request to drive him home, as it was beginning to rain. 

_ I need to think _ , he had said.

_ We both do. _ Wilbur had replied.

_ I feel we both have some secrets we have kept from the police. We need to understand why. _

Wilbur said nothing to that, just nodding, a pained expression passing his eyes.

George had given him one last look,  _ we will discuss it someday _ , and walked out the door.

The rain feels good as it starts to bead in George’s hair. Now alone, he has more time to think. One of the captors was wounded. Very recently, in the abdomen.

He tried to think of a description of Dream. Blonde wavy hair that framed his face. Taller than him. Wounded abdomen, fresh.

_ Oh shit _ . George’s vision is filled with memories

-

_ Setting the bloodied rags onto the floor, George tried not to look at the deep gash on Clay’s lower abdomen, instead focusing on tightly wrapping him back up. _

-

No way. But Clay said

-

_ “It was a hunting trip.” Clay murmured from the bathroom, and George heard cabinets reopening, the sound of pill bottles being moved around. “I was supposed to make sure everything was done correctly, and got caught in the crossfire.” _

-

George had seen the wound firsthand, and the realization of what conclusion he is forming hits him  _ hard _ .

He thinks about Clay, he thinks about his wound.

No way. It  _ can’t be… Can it? _

It was around the same time range as when Wilbur came back.

He recalls the blonde strands sticking out from Dream’s mask, and how they may be Clay’s. Suddenly George notices the similarity in both Clay and Dream’s voices.  _ Despair _ fills his lungs, bringing confused tears to his eyes. But it is all quickly replaced with-

_ Anger. _

Something inside George starts to  _ boil _ . His pace quickens, the feeling of betrayal thickening in his throat. No way.

_ Clay. _

The man George was starting to let himself become fond of. 

The man who

_ Kidnapped him. _

_ Then befriended him. _

_ Then- _

George feels his heart sink.

_ Then made advances towards him. _

There’s no way, right? It is absolutely not true. George was just jumping to conclusions right? He could ask Clay, couldn’t he? He could just send in the DNA from the knife and get his results, but is that what he wants to do?

He walks briskly on the cold wet pavement, cars speeding by, people pushing past him, rushing to get out of the rain.

The pavement eventually turns to gravel.

He rounds behind his house, deciding he isn’t cooled off  _ at all _ . He needs to walk through the forest for a bit.

Racing past the back of the house, he rushes into the comfort of the dark forest, not noticing the blond man leaning against his backdoor, umbrella in hand.

* * *

George doesn’t know how far he has travelled into the forest, only part of him wondering if he is lost. He takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The rain had soaked through his coat now, seeping into his socks as well. But he can’t feel it. His body is warm with  _ rage _ , buzzing with unleashed anger. He wants to scream, wants to rid himself of this  _ energy _ . His mind races with so many thoughts he feels  _ overwhelmed _ . He wants to cry and throw hands so bad. He  _ needs _ to do something, and  _ fast- _

A twig snaps from behind him. “George?”

He whips around, taking one look at Clay, open umbrella in hand.

“You’re all wet.” Clay walks over, concerned, offering the umbrella to George.

He doesn’t take it.

A moment passes.

“How did you get that wound.” It wasn’t a question, but George hopes it is. He hopes he is wrong. But after each passing minute his gut twists even more.

“A hunting accident.” Clay’s voice is steady, uncertain as he suddenly is aware of George’s posture. “What’s wrong, George?”

“Nothings wrong.” George chuckles, “I just paid a visit to Wilbur Soot.”

He watches Clay carefully, and when he catches the briefest expression of surprise, his heart clenches.

“Seems you recognize the name.”

“I- I’ve heard it before-”

“How did you get your wound?” George hears his voice rise, but he doesn’t care.

“Why? What did Wilbur say to you?” Clay is dodging the question, they both know it.

“ _ Clay. _ ” George can hear the pleading in his voice, “ _ Tell me _ .”

Clay backs up a bit, quickly trying to assess the situation. George lets him. “George I- I can explain.” He rushes.

“No bullshit.” George spits. “Did Wilbur leave that wound.” Again, not a question. Not anymore at least.

Clay’s face is the one that is pleading now, “ _ George please. _ ”

This gives George all the confirmation he needs, and before he realizes what he was doing, he has tackled the blonde. Them both falling back into the wet mud, umbrella thrown into the air.

“ _ Did Wilbur stab you, Clay? _ ” George didn’t stop the anguish from seeping into his words, fighting the man under him.

Clay makes to push away, eyes wide in panic. “George, I-”

George doesn’t want to hear the excuses, moving to straddle Clay’s hips and pulling his fist back. “ _ Why would you do this _ ?” There is a sickening sound as George's fist connects with Clay’s cheek, and he scrambles to get up, pushing George off of him. But George isn’t done with him. As he moves to stand, George grabs his leg, pulling him back down with a  _ thud _ . They roll around, mud getting on their faces and clothes and in their hair but neither care.

“ _ George _ -” Clay is fumbling, trying to grasp George’s wrists, but the adrenaline allows George to quickly evade his attempts. “Please let me explain-”

“You think you can  _ kidnap me _ then be my  _ friend _ ?!” George is screaming, clawing at Clay’s face and neck, his muddy blonde hair becoming all too familiar.

The rain is heavy, causing them to slip and slide in the growing length of muddied ground. If it were a different situation, George thought this would actually be fun.

But this is different.

George doesn’t know what he’s doing. His thoughts are jumbled all over the place. All he can feel is  _ pain _ . “You kidnapped me! You treated me decently, which ended up messing with me mentally. You and your sick friends  _ knew _ I would be messed up enough to withhold information from the police.” His fists were aiming for any part of Clay he could reach, and besides using his arms to protect his face, Clay let him.

He let him hit him. Let him take out his anger.

“You then try to teach me to defend myself. My own kidnapper!” George feels tears building up in his eyes. “Then you flirt with me and gain my trust,  _ for what _ ? Just to make sure I keep my mouth shut?”

Clay’s hands snap up and grab George’s wrists, quickly flipping them over and pinning George’s wrists above his head. “ _ You’re wrong _ .”

George looks up into dark, yellow eyes. Angry red lines mark every inch of Clay’s face, some deeper than others, blood pooling to clot the wound, only to be pulled away by gravity, landing on George’s cheeks.

“ _ What?” _ George’s voice is raw, and it is only then he realizes that he is crying.

“You’re wrong.” Clay’s voice is low, scratchy. “I was never supposed to see you again after the kidnapping. It was only by chance that your father hired me. I tried to say no, but he was adamant.”

“Why  _ flirt  _ with me?” George's voice was just above a whisper. “Why  _ touch me _ ?”

Clay releases his wrists, moving back to give them some space before running a frustrated hand through his dirt-filled hair. “I- I….” Clay’s voice cracks, “I  _ don’t know _ . I wasn’t thinking.”

“About what?” George moves to stand up, “My  _ feelings? _ Or were you never going to tell me?”

“When I realized how messed up it all made you, all I wanted to do was  _ fix things _ .” Clay stands as well, bending to pick up the now torn and muddied umbrella, making sure to keep a couple feet of space between them. “I wasn’t lying when I said I had been to your parties before. I always had an eye for you, wanting to get to know you.” He lets out a pained chuckle, “Kidnapping you was not how I wanted to go about doing it.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How would you have done it?” George’s chest rises and falls quickly, gaze fixed with Clay’s.

Confusion flashes on Clay’s face, before being mixed with other emotions George couldn’t place. “Dinner would’ve been nice. Taking you out somewhere pleasant and getting to know you in an open environment. Somewhere you were comfortable-”

He runs another frustrated hand through his hair, looking at George pleadingly.

“- _ Please, _ let me explain everything. Let’s get inside, you’re  _ shaking _ . You’re cold.”

He reaches towards George for a moment, and watching George step back makes him change his mind, instead gesturing back to where they came. “Let’s head back, take some time to warm up and talk.”

George squints his eyes, untrusting, ignoring the fact that he is indeed shaking slightly, suddenly noticing how wet and cold he is. “How do I know you’ll stay? How did I know you won’t just hide away. Or worst-” He shivers. “-kill me for knowing too much? For having DNA proof to lock you up?”

Clay tosses the umbrella towards George, holding his hands up in surrender. “Take the umbrella, fold it up and use it as a weapon if that makes you feel better. Plus, we both know I’m better at fighting than you are, if I wanted to take that pocketknife back I would have already.”

As much as George’s insides  _ screech _ for him to go straight to the police, there is a very small tug in the back of his mind, telling him to  _ hear Clay out _ . George absently wonders if it is the same part that wanted him to hide information from the police.

“I have no tricks up my sleeve.” Clay reiterates, sensing George’s internal conflict. “ _ I promise _ .”

Numb pricks at the back of George’s mind, freezing over. He stares deep into those yellow eyes. 

“You have a week to convince before I go to the police.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have taken things too fast, I apologize. I'm not very good at slow movement. Nor am I particularly good at transitions and thorough description. I tried to make this flow and I'm sorry if it didn't. I will work to make it better. Hopefully the next update won't take as long. Thank you for reading. I genuinely appreciate it.


End file.
